Thou shall not be a feeble gibbering wreck
Thou shall not tweet on Facebook
Thou shall not be addicted to blowing things up
Thou shall not make an ass of myself by dancing across pelican crossings
Thou shall not pee in my mate Roland's washing machine
Thou shall not wipe dog poo on my good mate Roland's car handle
Thou shall not empty the petty cash tin in work
Thou shall not feel guilty if I empty the petty cash in work
Thou shall not feel mums' bums in dollar stores
Thou shall not write any more thou shall nots
~I sat down for 3 hours the other night and devoured a very long short story of about 75 pages, called MY DEATH by Lisa Tuttle in Best New Horror 16. After 5 pages I almost jibbed it because it didn’t seem to be my style. It was all arty and factual. I stuck with it though and enjoyed it immensely. It was kind of a refreshing mystery tale which I don’t usually read, something I could really get into. The book has reached the end of its 9 week library limit this week, as is so often the case – I got this one in just in time.
I don’t read enough, but lately, when I’ve made the effort, I’ve been richly rewarded. It’s an alternative to watching a movie and just as good. You just need to set aside the time, and never last thing at night in bed because you just fall asleep. Remember, to read is to be in a state of 'low rapture'.
The very next piece in my personal pipeline will be a result of reading the ending in MY DEATH, estimated length a challenging 330 words. It’s good enough picking up techniques and style, but to come away with something in the making as a direct consequence distinguishes the excellent from the inspirational. A.D